


New Normal

by Paycheckgurl



Category: Mystery Science Theater 3000
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Earth based, Gen, Missing Scene, Not Really Character Death, Post-Season/Series 11, Pre-Season/Series 11, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, Shared Robot Custody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 12:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11230701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paycheckgurl/pseuds/Paycheckgurl
Summary: Mike’s new normal is deafening silence and a hatred of being home.





	New Normal

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops. I just wrote actual, serious angst fic about the silly comedy show. Sorry about that.

Mike Nelson’s life stopped being normal the day he took that temp job from Dr. F, but life not being normal doesn’t mean it lacks routines. Rituals. Traditions. Every second Wednesday he and Joel trade off on “custody” of their little robotic hellions. Joel does repairs and touch ups, reminds them that “Dick weed” is a bad word they’re not allowed to say (as are other choice words Mike lets slip when their pranks go too far or his clumsiness gets the better of him), and basks in pride in their creativity, like the proud father they know he is. Before the biweekly bot swap is complete, the two humans and their robot friends watch a movie together, usually the bad kind (it’s different when you have agency to pick it yourself, says Joel to half joking accusations of Stockholm Syndrome). They riff and they joke and they laugh. 

During the weeks that Mike has them it’s more of the same, bear simulations gone too far, long soliloquies bemoaning the loss of poor Tibby the Turtle (and his accidentally over exposed to cold Wisconsin room temperatures successor Tibby II). Songs, and chaotic skits that to an outsider must look like a filler sketch on SNL through the lens of an acid trip, but to them is just a part of being brothers. He gives them advice and listens to their concerns, while carefully keeping a running list of places he’ll never dare take them (from department stores to the DMV to the particularly seedy Waffle House on the interstate the next town over), but also places he can. Parks, lakes, local amusement parks (under strict supervision)-he gives them real life reference to what they only knew on screen. He lets them experience life. They are a part of his life. Until the day they aren’t. 

Rituals can be mundane. He leaves for work on a Tuesday morning.  
“Bye guys. See you later.”  
“Yeah whatever.”  
“Shh…Mike (some celebrity he can’t be bothered caring about) is on (some morning show)."  
Every morning, same thing. 

He goes to his latest temp job, some kind of media and R &D thing that promises he’ll get a full time job with them if they like him after six months and the position isn’t already filled. It will probably already be filled, but at least he can lose himself in some mindless typing of reports for the next six months. It’s got a weird name. King something or other. 

The parking lot is strangely empty, containing only one u-haul rental fifteen minutes before the start of the work day, and that should have been a warning sign. The man that greets him in the lot is eerily familiar. Strikingly similar to a version of his normal he left long ago. A large puff of silver hair and double breasted jacket. He doesn’t see the hammer until his head starts pounding. Mike’s never been particularly good at spot checks. 

His car is the only one in the parking when he comes to. His head is still pounding and he feels dizzy, not just because of comically oversized hammer that took him out, but because of what he’s afraid won’t be there when he gets home. He breaks several traffic laws and the grand tradition of leisurely Midwestern driving on the way.

There were two alternating traditions that usually met him when he returned from work during his weeks with the bots. Costumes and chaos straight of a prop comic’s worse nightmares, or a bored acknowledgement he was there from the couch while the TV blared, punctuated by some humming from cambot. The TV blares. No one acknowledges him. The only chaos is what is going through his head. 

He starts screaming their names. He starts pulling the house apart. Servo’s small. He could be under the bed. He could be in the closet Mike is furiously throwing clothes out of. This could all be an elaborate prank. This could all be pretend. He can avoid the reality that is starting to set in. 

Except he can’t. He can’t avoid it. He can’t avoid the fact that he’s panicking. He can’t remember the panicked words he tells Joel after he furiously dials his cell and opens with “please, please tell me you stopped by to take them a day early this week.” 

Joel rushes over. They call the police. Less than a half hour later, they’re getting a call from the NYPD of all places. The GypCorp headquarters was ransacked in broad daylight. They have security footage of the CEO being taken hostage by what looks like a few guys dressed as skeletons. They’re calling because Mike Nelson and Joel Robinson are her emergency contacts. It’s frankly the strangest case they’ve ever seen, and they’re very sorry, but they have no other leads. 

“I can’t fucking lose them again,” that may be the first time Mike’s ever heard Joel swear. 

There’s a lot swirling around Mike’s still beating head. Servo doesn’t have his favorite dress. Crow’s latest screenplay disaster (masterpiece he’ll lie and tell him if-when-he sees him again) is still littered across the counter. Joel didn’t finish painting Cambot’s new casing yet. He hasn’t even thought about what he’s getting Gypsy for Christmas. There’s bigger things to worry about, but all he can think about is how he can’t get these precious few items to them. He and Joel sit on Mike’s couch together that night, they don’t fall asleep and they don’t exchange too many words. But they’re there for each other, the only two people in the universe who can understand just how much this all hurts.

Mike’s new normal is deafening silence and a hatred of being home. It’s uncertainty and loneliness, and bouncing to new temp jobs with a fury. It’s the jumble of emotions every other Wednesday when he’s not riffing some stupid B movie, but instead just sitting on his couch alone. It’s feeling truly hopeless for the first time since the satellite. 

The show pops up on Netflix’s homepage months later. Joel is over at his place in record time. 

Kinga-the same chick the phony temp job was named for apparently-is a third generation Forrester Mad. Her standard issue Second Banana is Frank’s son. The fact that Dr. F probably had sex with a woman at some point probably isn’t an appropriate topic of discussion at the moment, but damn if Mike’s brain isn’t now trying to piece how the hell that worked (his going assumption had always been Forrester and Frank were a Thing). 

But thing was, three episodes of the new experiments in he feels he can breathe a sigh of relief. He sees it in Joel’s face too. The new guy-Jonah-is taking care of them. He knows what the hell he’s doing with upgrades apparently (the less said about Mike’s own attempts at bot repairs, the better). Jonah’s nice. Insanely friendly. Being taken to task by a certain duo of bots that feels the need to remind him of his place whenever he gets too “Team Dad” or tries to build another robot friend, but he can tell that deep down they’re warming up to the kid. 

But as the episodes go on something starts twinging at him again. The feeling something isn’t right. He looks over to Joel who’s face is starting to get a bit unreadable. But at _Wizards of the Lost Kingdom_ , a good ten or so episodes in, that his previous worries start piling up again in earnest. That’s when this Max guy finds that key and well, there is something very, very, wrong there. 

They get to _At the Earth’s Core_. And then all hell breaks loose. Mike stops it before the credits. He slowly feels himself sliding off the couch onto the floor. Jonah is dead. Max isn’t nearly as much of his father’s son as Mike assumed, because he just killed that kid in cold blood and he really can’t tell if he feels any remorse from that expression on his face Cambot captured, or if he’s just upset his dumb decision didn’t work out the way he planned. The bots are up there alone. Their new human friend is freaking dead. And one of the Mads may actually be willing to kill them off if it means getting his way. 

“Well we know exactly where they are now,” said Joel. “So that’s something.”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Mike. 

“It’s going to cost an arm and a leg and your latest job,” warned Joel. 

“Worth it,” 

His new normal is going to be a rescue mission through space. He and Joel are getting the bots back. They’re bringing them home. It isn’t normal in any real sense of the world, but they’ll be damned if they don’t do this. Normal is a code for a boring job in cheeses anyway, and they've got to save four very important parts their lives. They've got to save their family.


End file.
